


home to you

by gabriphales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, Gentle Sex, Internal Monologue, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Not Beta Read, Religion, Rituals, theres a lot going on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: aziraphale is crowned eden's guardian. gabriel gives him a parting gift
Relationships: Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	home to you

**Author's Note:**

> yes i watched midsommar before writing this. why do u ask

He misses Raphael. 

Truth be told, not a single day has gone by where he hasn't been missing him. It's quite embarrassing, now that the whole concept of time has been invented. Sweet, soft hair still coils in his memories, startlingly red. His fingers yearn to comb through it once more, bringing the curls to his lips, and repeaing comfort with every kiss he pursues. Raphael had always comforted him. Raphael was nothing but gentle. With hands that dipped between the lines of sacrilegious and kind, always asking for more, never satisfied with the answers he was given. Aziraphale wishes he could have satisfied him just once. Just _once,_ if it meant he wouldn't have fallen.

Gabriel tells him not to blame himself. He doesn't listen.

It's with this ceremony that he starts to notice allt he spaces Raphael _ought_ to be in. All the roles other angels are occupying, where he's much rather be seeing Raphael's impish, always laughing face. The teaser, he never knew when he was going too far. His jokes should have been the end of him, if anything were to be. Not his questions, not his _doubting._ What's so wrong with a little bit of doubt. Aziraphale can't see a reason as to why carrying a single line of thought should lead to somebody being cast directly from God's light. All that she encapsulates is warm, allthat she has to offer is pure. Raphael will never feel warm again, Aziraphale realizes. He hopes he isn't too cold, wherever he is.

"You'll be joining us, won't you?" Michael asks him, her hands clasped together in a tightly formal way. Aziraphale knows what she means is _we won't take no for an answer,_ and _it's your duty, after all._

"Of course. Though I must keep my head in line, I know better than to steer towards unrealistic fantasies." he says, bowing to accept the golden laurel Michael lays upon his head.

"Which are?" she laughs - it's dry, humorless.

Aziraphale draws out an ugly pause. His hesitation gets the better of him. "Oh, well, you know - I have no hopes of being chosen."

And Michael smiles, as if amusement were catching up to her. "You never know, Aziraphale. You _are_ of the cherubim. Take pride in the self you put forwards, and you will cultivate your own glory."

"I - er, yes. V-very cultivated. I'll make sure to do that." Aziraphale stammers, heading off to the main event. He doesn't look back at Michael. Not once on the whole trek there.

The rite begins exactly where it will end; in Heaven's finest chambers. The throne room, as Aziraphale calls it. Gabriel's already taken his seat. A high, towering chair that carries him above the rest. Allowing him to watch over everything at its best angle. Michael will sit beside him later, when they finally get down to business. Then Uriel, and eventually Sandalphon. He doesn't know why God won't just send one of them down. They're all stronger, all braver, all around _better_ than he is. And he doesn't think he's going to be chosen. But that doesn't stop him from fearing it.

There's angels in grand numbers crowding up the gratuitously sized room. Aziraphale stumbles between them, looking for a scratch of wine, anything golden and honeylike he can get his hands on. There's a banquet towards the left corner, he only has to reach it. And then he'll be alright. Then he'll be _just fine._

"Aziraphale!" a voice cries from behind him. Hands clutch at his shoulders, fingers tumbling him around. he's spun to face his mystery person, and it's Cassiel - _thank god._ Though he shouldn't say it aloud. She's the least... imposing, so to say, of her kind. That is, the higher ranking angels. She's polite. That's all he can expect from her.

"Darling, you're looking splendid today!" she exclaims, still gripping onto him. her eyes upturn with a meteor storm of starlight, and her cheeks go healthy red.

"Thank you, I - I haven't - I've only just arrived." he says, flicking back and forth between the soft of her bring, _demanding_ in his immediate vision, and the rest of the angels. He can still make out Gabriel in the blurry distance. His lungs go strict, sticken. Something about his sillhoutte is unsettling.

"Oh, I understand. Are you hungry? In dire thirst? You simply _must_ try the strawberry liqueur."

He draws back from Cassiel, fluttering deeper into the crowd. "Ah, I'll make sure to get around to it. Thank you, take care!"

His feet move faster than Cassiel can care to keep up with him. It should feel wrong to flee, to take terror and impatience hand in hand with another angel's company. But he can't bring himself to be shamed for it. Not today, not even by himself.

Aziraphale barely makes it to the banquet before Gabriel sounds his horn. Blaring through the chaotic air, and silencing any lingering whispers, unnecessary chatter. It makes Aziraphale trip over his own feet, dropping his plate. The angel behind him doesn't stifle a giggle in time. He flushes, embarrassed.

"My dear friends, companions, lovers of the divine nature," Gabriel starts, leaving Aziraphale to chew his thoughts on how unbearably ostentatious the flowery language sounds in the back of his mouth. Michael arrives just a little too late. At her side, she carries a sword. It's of a fine, pale metal. The sun hits the tip at just the right angle, and Aziraphale's eyes burn with it. His throat constricts as if that tilted blade were being held to his clammy skin. He shouldn't be sweating already.

"We are gathered here today to find hope amongst the masses. To seek out a name for our justice, our chosen warrior, Earth's _guardian angel._ " Gabriel says with a showy wave of his hand, making a few angels gasp in awe.

"And for our guardian angel, we have a gift!"

Michael brings the sword forwards. She taps the head against the ground. Once, twice. Hard enough to crumble a few stray splinters of the floor. Gabriel makes a disapproving tutting noise, and takes it by its hilt. Sweeping his palm across the length of the blade, it lights anew with heavy flame. More gasps and screams of delighted horror arise from the audience. They're getting a real spectacle out of this, it seems.

"Only an angel capable of proving themselves will be able to wield the this sword. One of you will be given it - fully sheathed - and your job is to protect it. Keep it within your grasp." Gabriel explains, letting the flames die down now that he's finished with his grandeur. 

Michael steps in, interrupting him. "Of course, make no mistake, it will be taken from you. You can only hope to get it back. Whoever remains with the sword in their hands by the end of the ceremony will be our god-driven winner. She will have crowned you by her very hand."

Aziraphale breathes out a sigh of relief. He'll have nothing to worry about, then. Just don't keep the sword. Can't be any less difficult, can it. He's got this perfectly under control.

"And... ?" Gabriel says, quite expectantly. Michael purses her lips in a poorly masked show of frustration. Her brows furrow, and she speaks once more.

"And... you will be dancing. In sync. Which was _not_ an unanimous decision to include, let me be clear here. I didn't want to - "

"Alright!" Gabriel claps his hands, ignoring her completely. "May the ceremony commence."

It all happens in the rush of a tide pool. The sword clangs down against the floor, at the feet of the angel lucky enough to possess it. Then - then they _swarm._ A flood of white and gold upon the little cherub's scrawny body. Aziraphale nearly thinks they might devour her, the poor thing. His heart pumps faster. He's caught up in the merciless wave of action.

To call it dancing would be an insult to the art form. More truthfully, it's a careless mesh of flailing limbs gripping at one another. Linking arms as each angel goes from one partner to the next. Aziraphale is dragged along as a tepid afterthought, being tossed aside just as quickly as he's grabbed. An angel at his side snaps to the ground, skinning their knees in the fall. He reaches out to help them. They slap his hand away.

"Don't," they snarl, rising to the feet as shaky as a collapsing bridge. "just focus on yourself."

Before he can think to apologize - _What for? He hasn't done anything wrong_ \- he's pulled aside by another angel's grasp. It's Cassiel once more. She has the sword! (Good for her, he thinks.)

"Azi," she giggles, light and persistent in her throat, like she's admitting to a child's crime. "I've got it." 

Aziraphale nods. "Yes! Yes, you do."

"Here," she says. "I won't have it for much longer, I might as well give it to you."

The weight of holy metal is shoved into his arms, and his knees almost give out from the shock of it.

"What?" he exhales, caught somewhere between breathing and snuffing out consciousness. "You can't be serious."

"I am. Take good care of it, and don't let go!" she turns on her heel, leaving him to trouble himself with this newfound responsibility.

"Cassiel, Cassiel!" he cries after her, being swept up in the arms of an angel who, apparently, has a spark of ingenuity. They lift him in the air, held by his waist as he's spun around. His head starts to dizzy, and he claws away from them, mumbling a faint slue of apologies. His vision still hasn't cleared when another angel goes for a more direct approach. Forcing him to the ground, his head bashed against solid white. There's heat trickling down the nape of his neck. He can't bring himself to realize it's blood.

"Oh, Heavens, I didn't think - you're bleeding, he's bleeding!" her voices raises, announcing it to the whole room. There's a flurry of commotion, more angels scattered about. They all spread to separate from him. Gathered in a tight circle around where he lays, trembling.

A line parts, and Gabriel comes walking down the center. Moving as leisurely as an evening stroll. He reaches his hand out, allowing Aziraphale to cling into his wrist, and pulls him upwards.

"With our first bloodshed, we must put an end to the ceremony. In good faith, we cannot allow injury." he says, speaking to seemingly everyone but Aziraphale.

"This means, of course, that you - "

He turns to face him. Suddenly, Aziraphale finds he'd preferred being ignored. There's an overly exuberant smile on Gabriel's face, stretching in a fine curve. And his eyes eat Aziraphale up like a treasure. He _feels_ eaten, at least. He's being eaten alive.

" - are our winner!"

His hands jam over his ears from the cheering. A dozen or more angels all hurry in to congratulate him, tugging at his robes and treading into his toes as he's led forwards. Gabriel pushes him past the whole lot of ecstatic onlookers, functioning as a bit of a narcissistically inclined bodyguard. He sways off any questions with a wave of his arm, sending angels scurrying back without even being touched. They're all too impressed with him. Aziraphale clutches the sword to his chest, seeking shelter. He doesn't get it. He doesn't get any of this.

"Hold onto me." Gabriel tells him, speaking under his breath. "My arm, I mean."

"The sword's too heavy," Aziraphale explains. "I'll drop it."

"Then let me carry it."

Aziraphale shakes his head, almost affronted at the prospect. He's not about to be babied, now that he's been thrust headfirst into unwanted championship. If the Almighty demands such a fate of him, then he'll take it without complaint. But he most certainly will _not_ allow Gabriel to hold his hand throughout it. He can do this on his own, thank you very much.

"Alright," Gabriel snickers, unable to help himself. "have it your way."

There's an audible scoff in his voice, and it makes Aziraphale kind of want to hit him over the head with his newfound weapon. Only gently, of course. Just enough to whack some sense into him.

He's guided into Gabriel's throne. Told to stand upon the arms, and raise his sword to the heavenly mother above. It's a show of respect, Gabriel explains. Aziraphale does just as is required of him, and regrets it before he's even started.

(He doesn't want to be doing this.)

Eventually, Gabriel takes him out to one of Heaven's many empty corridors. Clouding their meeting with the fog of indiscretion, and making sure no other angels would care to peek in on what they were up to.

"I wanted to share something with you. Before you go. he whispers. Speaking, for the first time in his life, with a hint of shame. Aziraphale responds accordingly. 

"Of course. Anything, my Lord."

Gabriel's eyes scrunch up, and his faces wrinkles disapprovingly. "Please don't - you don't have to call me that."

Aziraphale stares up at him, looking what he can only presume to be hopelessly confused. His lips part, and he's about to say something more. But then, Gabriel tilts him with a thumb under his chin. He leans in closer, struggling with the sweet taste of Aziraphale's breath, and closes the gap between them.

It's hot. That's the first thing Aziraphale processes. Hot, white hot air pushed into his lungs from Gabriel's own. Their teeth clink together, Gabriel's tongue presses inside, and Aziraphale's mouth remains open the whole while. Allowing himself to be kissed more than he kisses back. He's entirely still. Frozen in place, left to Gabriel's devices. The tongue in his mouth presses hard to his soft palate, tickling at some spot he hadn't known about, and he whimpers quietly. Gabriel encourages him, his lips moving so fiercely over Aziraphale's it's almost like being dined upon. Finally, he melds in sync with Gabriel. Chasing after him when he pulls away.

"What was... " he pants, out of breath. "What was that?"

"It's called a kiss. One of God's new inventions. She made lots of new things for the humans. Would you like to try more?"

Gabriel smiles. It's more mischievous than Aziraphale's ever seen him before.

"I - I wouldn't be opposed. Certainly not. I mean - yes, yes please." he stammers, seeking out words beyond what his body can summon.

" _Please._ Aren't you polite?" Gabriel chuckles. Aziraphale flushes like a puppy scorned, curling in on himself slightly.

"Come here." His wrist is held. Gabriel's thumb teases the tender skin that rests over his veins. "Come with me."

He starts dragging Aziraphale off to a smaller, more secluded room. The door fastens shut behind them, and somehow, Aziraphale can just sense it won't be opened by anyone on the other side.

"Will we kiss again?" he asks, feeling a little childish for his wonder." 

"If you want to." Gabriel mutters, laying him onto the soft array of flowers and greenery that bunch together in a thatch on the ground. Aziraphale glances down to it in curious amusement, plucking one of the thin daisies at his side.

"I prepared this. Just for you, in case you said yes." Gabriel explains. He shuffles between Aziraphale's easy, pliant legs. Hovering over him, just as God had once showed her hungry wolves trapping lambs beneath their cagelike bodies. Aziraphale isn't sure why she creates some things to serve, and others to be served, but he isn't complaining. Not in this scenario, at least.

"Just for me? What if a different angel had won?" he asks, his voice smaller than he'd like it to be.

Gabriel hesitates, leaning down and kissing him once more. "I always knew it would be you."

And that's all it takes for Aziraphale to give in entirely. His thighs curve around Gabriel's hips, squeezing as he ruts aimlessly. His pelvis kicks up, bucking while Gabriel up with him. His breathing heavies, and he's dizzy again. Weightless, lightheaded, spinning in a room with nothing but Gabriel to hold him down. Dear god, he wants to be held down. He wants to be totally ruled over by Gabriel, made to take some fraction of his power. 

Something hot and firm presses at his labia, slicking him with a sticky wetness. Aziraphale flinches in surprise, which Gabriel must mistake for fear, because he starts clutching at his face like a desperate animal. His thumbs hard against Aziraphale's cheekbones.

"It won't hurt," he promises. "I won't let it hurt. Just stay calm. I'll make it so good."

Aziraphale nods quickly, not quite sure what he's being reassured of. "I know, I _know,_ Gabriel." 

He stretches his hand to comb through smooth, silky locks. Gabriel cools instantly, leaning into the touch. It's almost like brushing Raphael's hair had been, Aziraphale notes. Only his is much straighter. It falls upon his shoulders in flat bunches. 

"Say my name again, please." Gabriel pleads. "It's so nice to hear from your mouth."

"I... " Aziraphale pauses. "I don't - _Gabriel._ "

The fingers in Gabriel's hair clamp on for dear life. Aziraphale's legs constrict, and he cries out to a God who - thankfully - isn't listening as Gabriel spears him open. Spread around his cock, and fucking into him with an earnest need. Now that he's started, Aziraphale isn't sure he'll ever be able to stop. Gabriel's thrusts are fast-paced, eager - he wants more than he can have. And it's so much, so _much_ to be taken apart like this. Sore in places he'd never known could be sore. Overheating more than he can take. Yet still clinging onto him, begging for a pleasure he can't deny. 

"Gabriel, what is this?" His mouth drops open, eyes wide. "What are you doing to me?"

"The Almighty calls it - " Gabriel's hands fist at a few unfortunate blossoms, tearing the petals in order to stifle the risk of tearing anything else. " - Making Love."

"Then are we... ?"

Gabriel's hips stutter. "In love?"

Aziraphale nods.

"Maybe. If you'd like us to be."

And Aziraphale agrees, because what else can he do? What is a greater joy than being in love? And what holds a greater comfort than having a lover at your side, wishing you well at all times, keeping you safe? Gabriel is strong, he's of thick build and noble heart. He'd do anything to show how holy he truly is. He'll protect Aziraphale. Beneath his gentle body, he feels at home. And that's all he's ever wanted to feel.

Their coupling continues as any sex would. And Aziraphale keeps hold of him the whole time. Embracing the last of Heaven's remnants.


End file.
